Emotions
by L. M. Schulze
Summary: Near is left alone in the word, abandoned by his abusive parents who where killed by Kira. When everything falls apart, Wammy's takes Near in, for the better.. maybe? Follow Near through this ever winding tale as he takes on the world. Rated T for self harm, ED, suggestive scenes, and suicidal tendencies. Originally posted under L. M. Lockehart account, but lost password. *TRIGGERS
1. Chapter 1 - The Creation

_AUTHOR'S FORENOTE: This is a story entirely of my own creation, but all characters, to some degree, belong to the creators of the Death Note series. I had started it with another account, but have since forgotten the password. Additionally, my writing was substandard at that time. I hope you are able to enjoy reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. However, I do ask that you keep in mind that these characters may not be true to the manga or anime depictions, as I like to give them multiple layers. As a result, time and ageing may be incorrect, and, frankly, I don't give a damn. I wouldn't want to read about an eight year old orphan feeling suicidal and having homosexual urges, as that is extremely inappropriate. Fourteen, although it may seem young, is more fitting, as I, myself, experienced similar topics, aside from the homosexuality, and recovered from them around the age of twelve. If this mature content offends you, please click on the tiny inverted arrow at the top of the page and proceed with your life. Right now. BUT if you stick around long enough to read my story, please leave a comment telling me your thoughts. All thoughts are welcome, and I greatly appreciate them. If you have a question, leave that too, and I'll get back to you. Thank you and let the reading begin!_

"I can't do this, Edmund," a blonde woman, around the age of twenty-five stated, "I'm just not ready."

"Just shut up already," the man named Edmund said with a regal voice, ever so slightly hinting at his annoyance.

"It's a life change."

"Alicia, we'll get more maids— a nanny, even. Besides, he'll take on the family business when he's older."

"Edmund, I'm serious. I'll go crazy. A baby is—"

_ Slap._

Edmund River lashed out at his young wife with a harsh hand. No tears emerged from the woman's made up face, though she stumbled backwards, placing aristocratic fingers on the reddening skin. Her mouth remained slack, not unlike a carp, but not one word escaped. Only shaky, shallow breathing filled the silent room, echoed by a much stronger, much more ardent breath.

"Let's go home, Alicia," Edmund stated, placing his top hat atop his salt and pepper hair, stiff from a morning gel regimen, "Sebastian— have the chauffeur bring the limo around to the front."

"Right away, Master River," Sebastian, their loyal butler, replied.

One of their maids gathered Alicia River's belongings while another collected their newly born son, who was pink and soft like a lamb.

The family rode off towards the Lillian Estate, named after Edmund's great grandmother. Contrary to what the name would imply, the River family's wealth was not particularly old. In fact, the entirety of the funds came from Edmund River's term as the family head. Raised in a small, impoverished urban environment, Edmund was accustomed to criminal activity by a very young age. While many brought up in similar settings shun such a lifestyle to become respectable adults, Edmund River chose to continue this way of life until his dying breath.

A frequent drug user, a raging alcoholic, and not a stranger to domestic abuse, the thirty-seven year old tyrant was the head of a crime organisation specialising in human trafficking. While Alicia River, née Rolfe, seemed to be a victim of this man, she willingly helped him in this crime by luring young men into her home, where they were seized by burly men, and never heard from again.

Alicia, unlike Edmund, _was_ born into an affluent family, she was written out of the will when she turned to the profession of prostitution. Craving the wealth she once had, she married one of her more frequent patrons, by ensuring him with a male heir. She had planned to put said male heir up for adoption immediately after birth, only to tell Edmund that he did not make it. Unfortunately, Edmund partook in the birth itself, observing, firsthand, the first cries of the white-haired newborn.

It comes to the attention of any unseen observer, however, that Edmund and Alicia River are not fit parents. Quite frequently, little Nate received beatings from his parents that were unfamiliar to other children his age. In actuality, they would have been appropriate for criminals of the worse kind.

These beatings were unjust and cruel. The River family maintained an extremely professional image, and extended this image to their youngest member. Toys were banned in the Lillian Estate, as were sweets, tears, and small, fluffy animals. Near was subjected to an extremely demanding schedule and was punished brutally— by means of flying fists to hot-iron branding— should he be off by the slightest second.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Meeting

Just after the little white sheep's sixth birthday, a letter from the preparatory institution, where he had taken an entrance examination, was delivered in the post.

The letter read:

_To the parents of Nate W. River,_

_We are pleased to inform you that your child, Nate River, has performed exceptionally well on our entrance exam. He received 100% on the maths portion, which covered up to secondary school calculus courses, 100% on the reading portion, which covered up to university level comprehension-based questions, 100% on the science portion, which covered up to secondary school physical sciences, and 100% on the writing portion, which included a detailed analysis of a document-based source. We would like to hold a conference with you on Monday, July 17th, in order to discuss placement options for your student. Please contact the front desk personnel with any conflicts in scheduling._

_Thank you,_

_Kathleen McGibeny_

_Headmaster of Collinsworth Preparatory School_

"Did you cheat, boy?" Edmund's harsh words were hurled at the snivelling boy.

"I swear I didn't dadd—" a strong hand collided with Nate's cheek, "—sir. The test was simply… easy."

Silence followed.

"What'd I tell you about lying, Nate?" Alicia spoke to the lamb from across the room, carelessly lazing about on a chase.

If looks could kill, Nate would have been dead ages ago. However, looks can't kill. Pain, on the other hand, could kill. Pain, in some circumstances, could be worse than death, and the pale little boy new that better than anyone.

Fearful, the little Nate observed his father's every motion through a set of two freshly bruised eyes.

"That's a good way to get your eye gouged out," Edmund threatened, "Never look anyone in the eyes. You don't reserve that kind of respect. And what the hell did I say about addressing me as 'daddy'? I am ashamed that I fathered you."

He lashed out at the shaking boy once again, striking him on the cheekbone. Fist hailed down on the boy, blow after blow, until all that remained was a crumbled, bloody mess of wool. Delivering one last kick to the young boy's crotch, Edmund signalled for the maids to take the child way. Nate's pants dampened.

"Disgusting, ungrateful, pathetic little brat…" Edmund's voice trailed off until it was out of Nate's earshot.

It was years of the same gruelling abuse. Broken noses, broken ribs, burned skin, punctured flesh, all remained as scars— some large and some faint— on Nate's body and mind. By the time Nate was fourteen, the routine had been so well learnt by the lamb that it no longer frightened him. By the time Nate was fourteen, he had discovered a way to cope and was covered in an just as many scars from abuse as self inflicted.

In the upstairs bathroom adjacent to his bedroom, Nate, using a slender filed, removed a broken straight edged razor from its hiding place— wedged carefully in between two pieces of his mirror, invisible to the unseeing eye.

Holding the razor to his pallid wrist, and, using a fluid motion, he dragged the blade across his skin, releasing the pent up emotion with the tiny beads of blood that formed. The pain was too familiar to have the same effect as it once did, and so Nate slashed his skin once more. Instead of tears, he bleed. Instead of faltering, he remained emotionless.

With a renewed grip on his stoic mask, Nate returned to the hell that waited for him at the dinner table.

This habit was detrimental, and he new it, but it was the only thing that seemed to help. Still, he pressed on.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Beginning

One day, whilst attending to personal errands with the butler, Nate encountered a very strange young man. The raven-haired male walked straight into the lamb, knocking him to the linoleum flooring.

The raven's coal eyes widened as he took in the bruise on Nate's expressionless face, dropping several bags of sweets and candies atop Nate's feet. His mouth went slack as he bent over, his neck craned at an extremely peculiar angle so as to maintain eye contact with the pale boy, extending long, slender fingers to pick up the candies.

After helping Nate to his feet, the butler picked up the boxes of butterfly bandages and gauze, returning them to his master.

"Excuse me," Nate said, breaking the silence, and he hurried off down the aisle.

_What a strange person_, Nate mused to himself.

As the son of two criminal millionaires, eccentric individuals had a common place in Nate's life. This man, however, took the cake— and, judging by the various grocery items he possessed in his arms, he ate it, too.

Nate sighed and returned to the car while Sebastian purchased the items. Whilst waiting, he wandered through his thoughts, settling on the mysterious killings occurring lately. Various criminals of all statuses had been suffering from heart attacks. While many thought of these killings as justice, and others as mere coincidences, Nate had a different opinion. While the criminals deserved to be punished, some ignorant vigilante had become too comfortable with this position, therefore failing to realise he was just as criminalistic as the rest of them.

The ride home was extremely uneventful, in great contrast to the series of events to come.

Lillian Estate was filled with an awful silence that poured out of the front door the minute it was opened. Walking through the grand hall into the parlour room, Nate discovered two hulking lumps on the floor. Picking up his pace, he dashed to the sides of each of these fabric masses and turned them on their sides. Ghastly white hands flopped lifelessly towards him. They were bodies. They were the bodies of his parents.

He swallowed the rising lump in his throat as called out to his butler, his voice breaking on each syllable. With shaking legs, he managed to ascend the stairwell and enter his bathroom, quickly stripping his trousers and shirt. Without hesitation, he removed the razor, sinking to his knees in the corner.

With the blade in hand, he gashed and slashed and sloppily attacked his thighs and forearms. Unlike usual, he began to bawl. The cuts were furious and filled with punishment. He was overwhelmed with hysterical emotion— he felt grief and joy and resentment towards himself for being remotely pleased about another human's death. A knock percolated into the bathroom past heavy bedroom doors.

"I've informed the police of your parent's death," Sebastian's muffled voice sounded, "There is now a visitor for you, Young Master."

This was a name unfamiliar to Nate. He had never been the master of the house before. Not wallowing in the change for more than a second, the dizzy boy redressed, covering the ageing scars, and walked down the stairs, keeping a tight grip on the handrail. His mask had been reassumed.

Standing in the parlour room was the raven from before. This time, however, an aged man stood along side him. The bodies had been removed.

_His butler? _Nate mused.

Nate nodded and greeted them blankly, "Welcome to my home. What is your business, good men?"

Removing his elongated fingers from his mouth, the raven spoke first.

"You are now an orphan, Nate River. As a minor.. you can't stay on your own," his speech was interrupted by awkward pauses, "but we are aware of your intelligence, which is why he have come to ask if you would like to stay with a group of other gifted boys and girls at our orphanage called Wammy's."

Nate was unsure how to respond as the man had more so stated, rather than inquired, the statement. He gave it his best attempt.

"I see. How do you know of my parent's deaths already?"

Again, the slouching black-haired young man spoke, "We work with the police. Currently, we are working on a special case called Kira."

_The murderer who kills with heart attacks_, Nate thought.

"That does not explain why you were sent to my abode," Nate replied, adding "Mr…?"

The raven did not receive the notion that Nate was inquiring his name and, instead, continued to speak, shifting his weight. His baggy jeans rustled against his loose white shirt.

"Your parents appear to have died of heart attacks, Nate River," the raven spoke, "and it is common knowledge that they have been bribing the police to keep their criminal acts in the dark. So… Kira killed them."

His eyes connected with Nate's abruptly, unnerving the sheep. His pale eyes grew wide as he took in the stranger's words.

"Due to the face your deductive resigning skills are far beyond average, Nate River, and your logical way of thinking… it makes me believe that you could be my successor, if I were to die," the raven rubbed his foot against his other, balancing awkwardly on one leg, "Of course, you'll have to leave all of your belongings as they are now a property of the state due to their acquisition being directly tied to illegal activity."

Nate looked up at him and twirled his hair out of stress before resigning, "I understand, but before I come to live at this Wammy's, I am wondering… what is your name?"

The raven haired man glanced up at his older companion, seeking approval, before responding, "I am Lawliet, known as L. This is my partner, Quillish Wammy, known as Watari. He will take you to the orphanage, where you will be left with Mr. Roger, the caregiver."

Nate's pale eyes shifted from the kind, yet weathered, face and then back to the raven as he proceeded to ask, "I see. Why do you both have aliases?"

L, shifting his weight again, replied, "It is for protection. We believe Kira has to know the names of his criminals in order to kill them. You will have to use one too, and you must never reveal your true identity to anyone. For now, please call me Ryuuzaki until we get to Wammy's, just to be safe."

Nate followed the pair out of the door into a limousine, after saying goodbye to his former staff. He waited for someone to open the door for him, but quickly realised it was a luxury he would no longer have. He opened it himself and occupied a seat. L climbed in after him and assumed a very peculiar sitting position, drawing both of his knees close to his chest and resting on his heels. Mimicking this hero, Nate pulled one leg up to his side and rested his elbow on top. His parents would sure— would have— surely beaten him for sitting in such a manner.

Though the car ride was awkward and unbearably silent, it gave Nate a time to think about his alias. Finally, he thought of one. He chuckled to himself about how disturbingly perfect it was for him. The limousine eventually pulled into a charming brick building, similar to an oversized cottage, with many children— of all ages— running about. They were playing games— a sin, as far as Nate was concerned. He felt his heart beat pick up.

Suddenly, the children dropped their toys, balls, jump ropes and abandoned their games, racing towards the now-parked limousine. The leapt towards the vehicle in a frightening manner, screaming out of excitement. Watari opened the door and allowed the other passengers to evacuate. By the time Nate made it to the coffered, wooden front door of the building, he was left alone, as all the children swallowed L in their hugs.

Wrapping his delicate fingers around the intricate brass door handle, Nate managed to push the heavy door open, revealing an extremely disturbing site. The interior of the orphanage was bright and cheerful, with toys upon toys littered the wooden floors. Brilliant murals decorated the walls while instruments, half eaten snacks, empty juice boxes, candies, and more rested atop furniture. In the corner, Nate spotted a bitten candy bar and a gameboy.

His eyes adjusted from the brightness and we glanced up a tall wooden staircase that lead into a hallway. _The dorms_, he assumed.

A man around Watari's age— elderly— approached Nate. His eyes were kind and when he smiled at Nate, they were outlined by deep, ruddy wrinkles. He had a rather bulbous nose and his hair stuck out at various angles.

Pushing his glasses upon the bridge up his nose, he spoke, "Welcome to Wammy's, my boy. Please, step into my office."

The snowy boy followed the man to the western wing of the building, hesitating just long enough to see two people glaring at him from over the balustrade. It was a blonde girl, a bit older than he— maybe seventeen— who was consuming a chocolate bar. The gingered boy with his arm draped lazily across her waist looked a year younger than she. In his hand was a game controller. Upon meeting the smirking girl's blue eyes with his own, Nate realised that she was not a she at all, but a boy. A boy with long hair and delicate features.

Once inside the creme coloured office, Nate observed how friendly it attempted to look. Potted plants and framed pictures decorated the space. Two large windows adorned either side of a large fireplace, proudly displaying the rural winter landscape just outside. Nate sat in the oversized leather chair, and gazed, unrelentingly, at the fumbling old man.

"I have been made aware of your current," the man pauses, "situation. Your parents will be buried properly for someone of their social standing, despite their criminal status. For your protection, their cause of death will be publicly released as a fire. Have you thought of a name yet, my boy?"

Nate nodded, "Near."

It was not very clever, as it utilised his birth name— _NAte rivER_— scrambled to form _Near_, but still, he felt proud of it, because it represented how he felt. _Near_ the edge, _Near _death, _Near_ non-existence.

The old man nodded and scribbled it down on an official-looking document. Despite his shoddy penmanship, Near could make out that it was an adoption form. He quickly realised that the intent of the orphanage was not to become adopted, but to be trained. Roger went on to describe the entire layout of the building to Near: library, top story, full floor; kitchen, kitchen, first floor, to the left; green house, outside; second floor, recreational rooms; third floor, girls, west wing; fourth floor, boys, west wing. He finished his speech by handing Near a large silver key.

"This is the key to your dorm room. Normally, students are required to share a dorm room, but we are aware of your upbringing and believe you will be comfortable in a single-student dorm room. As a result, you will find your dorm room on the east wing. Do not hesitate to visit with the other boys, though, Near. Also," Roger adds, "there is no tolerance of locking doors, as it is unsafe. We also hold nightly checks to ensure that each child is in their room at the appropriate hour. Now, please follow Miss vanPelt to receive your new attire."

Near followed the pleasantly plump lady into another, darker room and glanced about the new surroundings. Though dimly lit, he could make out the shapes to be clothing. Everywhere was clothing. Millions of clothing and many different styles.

"You can choose whatever you'd like, honeybee! It's all for your choosing," the young lady grinned, picking up on his hesitation.

"All for… me?" Nate asked.

"Yessir! All of it is in your size and you can pick out anything you like. I'll have the rest of the style sent to your room."

Near's light eyes scanned the wide selection carefully, when one outfit caught his eye. He pointed and said, "That one."

She nodded and flitted off to retrieve the clothing, "you can go put this one on, and I'll have all the rest sent to your room. Anything else, honeybee?"

The lamb shook his head and proceeded to the dressing room.

Near looked into the mirror and decided it was an excellent fit. The ultra-white pyjamas matched his hair colour and complimented his silver eyes. The fabric was opaque and extended long enough to cover his arms and legs, which proved beneficial for multiple reasons. He smiled as he turned around in the three-hundred-and-sixty degree mirror, but quickly caught himself. He stepped out of the tiny room and discovered a note.

_Hey hun— couldn't stick around! I'm so busy these days— simply swamped! Anyway, it's okay to go to your room now! Hope you like it 'cause I styled it myself ;-)_

Near smiled internally as he took note of how kind Miss vanPelt was. He climbed up a winding back stairwell— all the way to the fourth floor.

He carefully placed the cool, metal key into the old lock and twisted it until he heard a tiny click. Slowly turning the knob, the lamb's eyes widened as he took in the window-lit room.

The room was a brilliant snowy white. In almost every way, it represented Near— from orderly layout to the bright colour scheme. The floor was covered with soft, white carpeting. The walls, also white, reflected the light rom the single large window on the right side of the back wall. To the left, a comfortable white linen bed was lofted above a minimalistic desk. Only the foot of the bed could be seen from the doorway however, as a bathroom protruded from the left. The door would reveal a sterile porcelain bathroom. Directly underneath the window of the bedroom, and untouched set of dominoes awaited.

Discomfortable and alarmed, Near held his breath until he successfully stuffed the toys into the wardrobe. Only then could he relax. He was panicked, but still held fast to his composed mask.

Wandering out of the tranquil room and into the hallway, wanting to explore, Near was overcome with an eerie feeling of being watched, despite ensuring that the hallway was empty, aside from himself. He realised the blonde boy from before was still glued to his thoughts.

Still unnerved by the feeling, Near scuffled into a an empty storage room. Unable to turn the light on, Near waited until his eye adjusted to the dimly lit room. He realised, however, that the room was electronically lit by a large television in the back of the room. Illuminated were manga books and video game cartons, giving the impression that the room doubled as a hideaway for some gamers. He recalled the boy next the the blonde child that had his arm around his waist. In the other hand was a video game remote. Peering around some boxes, Near saw them.

The two juveniles sat with glazed over eyes, facing a large screen depicting gruesome murders and gunfights. The redhead was wearing aviation goggles, which mimicked the gory display on the television. The other boy— the blonde boy— was wearing a black French shirt. Near took a seat next to the two boys and rolled his hair in his finger tips until one of them broke their trance and noticed him. It was the blonde one.

"What the hell are you doing in here?! Club members only," the blonde child state, quite melodramatically.

"I merely came to investigate what type of people Wammy's had acquired," Near replied with his monotonous voice, letting his eyes sweep across the blonde's blatantly angry expression.

"Yeah, well this room is off limits, sheep. Beat it."

"Very well then," the white boy stated calmly as he turned to leave.

The blonde boy was visibly upset that Near was not responding in a typical manner. Near smirked inwardly at his tiny victory.

"Wait— what's your name?" the blonde boy called out, defeated.

"Near," who stopped at the door just in time to hear a reply.

"I'm Mello."


	4. Chapter 4 - The Illusion

The following days went by very, very slowly. Near withdrew from the other children almost entirely. Most mornings, he sat in the library, reading, until the breakfast bell rang. The only other child in the room was a younger girl that spent the early morning hours painting a replica of Michelangelo's The Last Judgement behind the checkout desk in the reading room.

"It's very good, you know." Near broke the silence.

"Thank you," her voice was timid, but audible none the less.

The silence slowly crept back into the air.

"I can't get God's arm right," she spoke again, "Do you think he'll be mad at me?"

Near carefully slipped a paper bookmark between the pages and set the book aside. He could not stand it when careless people damage the spines of books by turning them over, or when they folded over part of a page until it ripped. He slowly got up from his learned sitting position and walked over to the younger girl and kneeled by her side.

"God couldn't be mad at you," _because he doesn't exist_, he added in thought.

Near had abandoned God just as He had abandoned him. Once he began to read science books early in his childhood, Near realised things just did not add up. Various discontinuities occurred in the Bible that made him question as to why anyone would accept such flawed text as law, when the natural order of things clearly could be proven and tested.

"Thank you, Near."

Although Near did not know the little girl's name, it was not a surprise that she knew his. The day after Near arrived at Wammy's orphanage, he was seated in a placement exam. The results were shared with Near and four other individuals affected by the score. Near, not disappointing L's expectations, scored the highest scores amongst those at Wammy's, though they had tested a few months prior. The other four students, which included Mello and his red-haired friend, Matt, had been pushed back in their line up as L's successors. The five of them, combined, received the title of Wammy's Elites. Mello, of course, retook the test almost immediately after Near was named first, but remained in his position of second. Regardless, the Wammy Elites were well known amongst the other orphans.

"And what might your name be?" Near asked the girl.

"Linda."

The breakfast bell sounded.

"Well, let's go to breakfast now, Linda," Near said, standing up once more, "okay?"

The staircase down to the main floor was not direct and required some changes on a few of the floors. Once the two reached the floor of the boys' dormitories, Linda kept descending, but Near lingered, disliking the sense of companionship.

The fourth floor was abandoned by all children, who had raced down to the dining hall the second the metal instrument was struck. It was abandoned aside from two shadowy figures lurking near the storage closet door.

"Hey, Albino. What'ya doing?" Mello called out, an unopened chocolate bar in his hand, "Besides being so _superior_."

"Hello, Mello. Hello, Matt." The white lamb responded.

Matt, although adorned with his typical garb of aviator goggles and puffy vest, lacked his usual accessory of a handheld video game. In its place was a small lighter and freshly lit cigarette. A small wisp of smoke danced in the air above the two. Matt placed his hand holding the lighter around Mello's shoulders and took a puff with the other, cigarette-holding, hand. Near nodded and proceeded to walk past them.

"You can't just walk away like that! You damn brat," Mello shouted, gripping the lamb's shoulder and forcefully spinning him around, "You can't just act like you're better than everyone else, you little shit."

Near's silver eyes peered into Mello's cerulean ones, searching for any sign the blonde haired boy. In his place, however, stood Edmund River, looking fiercely back at him, fist raised. The black aura of the man overwhelmed Near as he shuffled backwards, and he tensed as he waited what was coming.

"Mello, back off," Matt spoke, grabbing his older friend's wrist, "He's scared."

Mello stepped backwards, his eyes never leaving the pale boy's face. The face was contorted with fear and confusion. It became clear that he was somewhere else in his mind. Mello turned around, gripping a red rosary around his neck instead, not wanting to take a cheap shot. He wanted victory— victory that he had earned, victory that defined his superiority.

Mello and Matt sulked off down the wooden hallway, leaving a tiny burn mark behind them as Matt snuffed out his stick. Near was left shaken and tormented; his grasp on reality was fleeting as he stumbled back to the empty East wing. The door, though unlocked according to the policy, was difficult to open. His fingers were trembling and his brain could not force the icy digits to move. After some struggle, the white boy was able to push the heavy door open. Near was ready to fall apart by the time he collapsed inside the adjacent porcelain bathroom. He barely managed to lock the door behind him as his emotions were so overwhelming.

Still, his fight was not over. Though in the comfort of the sterile bathroom with one leg of his trousers rolled up, he had been unable to obtain a straight edged razor. Instead, he was given a disposable one used for shaving purposes, though the blade was safely confined by rubber barriers. The slender, dainty fingers ripped at the material until he successfully broke it apart. It was incredible— the amount of blood one minuscule blade could produce.

He stroked his thigh with the tiny metallic instrument repetitiously, banishing his deceased father's face with each gash. It was mechanical, but relief eventually came. Near mentally cursed himself for the tears that echoed the thin streams of blood, ashamed of such weakness. Finally, he was able to control himself once more. He rested his head against the cabinet, taking in the silence.

He had fallen asleep and awoke to caked, dried blood. The little lamb removed his garments and drew a hot bath. He was able to pure himself once more, though the appearance of the pink water made him queasy.

After cleaning up the bathroom and dressing his wounds with the first aid kit underneath the sink, Near redressed in his morning clothing and stepped out into his bedroom. Judging by the light, it was already mid-afternoon. He decided to grab some dinner, as he was feeling faint, and made his way into the hallway, shutting the heavy door behind him. It was going to be a long night and he could feel it.

Unfortunately, the first person he ran into was the overly passionate, and enraged, blonde boy.

Mello was walking through the door way into his unofficial clubroom when he saw the white child in the corner of his eye.

"Sheep."

Near kept walking.

"Didn't you learn from earlier," the enraged teenager shouted, "damn brat?"

"Mello, I am not interested in your juvenile behaviour," the lamb responded, devoid of emotion, "To put it your terms, _bugger off_."

With that, Mello was on top of Near— straddling his waist, flinging his fists in line for direct collision with the silver orbs. Near turned his head quickly, resulting in Mello's knuckles crashing into the hardwood flooring.

"Shit."

Mello stuck Near across the face. The lamb took hold of Mello's black shirt and rolled over, forcefully. Although he was not heavy enough to the taller boy down, it was enough to get away. With one last effort, Mello grabbed Near's ankle.

"What's this?" Mello asked, pointing to the dried, crusty blood that lingered on the hem of the lamb-child's trousers.

"Nothing. A scrape."

With that, Mello dropped the subject, collected his chocolate bar and dashed into the storage room. Muffled complaints from Matt about his tardiness could be heard.

Near decided to abandon any hope of food and returned to his dorm. He promptly fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5 - The Captivity

"Today, we will be visiting the zoo!" the aged man spoke, "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Various cheers came from the crowd of children eagerly listening to Roger speak. Occasionally, Near had learnt, Wammy would send out specific requests that the children go to unusual locations on a whim, and Roger, though tired and weary, always complied. The trips were purely to entice the imagination, fulfilling whatever need an individual wished to be fulfilled.

Near had never been to a zoo before. He had read about animals in books. He had vicariously felt the smile of a child at a petting zoo just as he had felt the heart-gripping fear of a man facing a lion inside of a cage. Real zoos, however, were foreign, frightening, and confusing. Wild animals in captivity provide little educational opportunities for their behaviour is disturbed, so the purpose was almost nonexistent.

"Please, everyone, pick a buddy," the bumbling Roger said to the children as they climbed into a coach, "Uh, although, Elites are not to be chosen so that everyone may be able to enjoy the experience equally, okay? You five must pair up with each other. Actually, William, you may come with me. Pair off, everyone."

William had broken his foot a few days ago whilst playing ball and required a wheelchair until it was healed.

Mello turned to his companion only to face his backside. Matt spoke to Gia, the only female Elite, in a smooth manner that reeked of sleaze. The two turned around to ascend into the bus, with Matt giving the blonde boy an over exaggerated thumbs up. Near felt his stomach sink.

"Horse shit. I'm not pairing up with you," Mello turned to Near, his words bitter and disdainful, as though he had bitten into spoilt chocolate, "Goddamn albino."

"I'm sorry," Near replied, stoic and collected, "Are you not mature enough to handle a situation as minor as this? What do you intend to do if you come across a colleague smarter than you as L's replacement? Will you refuse to work with him, leaving L and myself to die in vain?

"You?" Mello scoffed, clutching his rosary, "What do you mean, _you_?"

"Well, the only way you would be L's replacement is if I were to die. You are only the second successor, remember?

"Fucking brat. I ought to—"

"Boys, please get on. You're making everyone wait," Roger interrupted as Mello balled up his fist.

Near smiled inwardly as he followed the older boy on to the coach. He had some sort of significance in life, though he felt sad he was complicating another's. He pulled his winter cap over his ears.

_Field— field— cottage— field— factory— field, again,_ Near thought, observing the scenery. Though the harsh winter had already killed the greenery, it reminded him of the long limousine ride the first day he came to Wammy's. While it seemed like a distant memory, the pain and emotion still lingered, ripping a cavity into the lamb's chest. He pressed his fingernails deep into his arm to subside the pain. He had began to injure his own flesh around eight times a day, reopening old wounds before a proper scab could even develop. The scarring was horrendous, and he appreciated his own personal museum of improvements on a daily basis during his shower. Cleansing himself, too, had become an unbreakable habit. So desperately, the little white boy wanted to be pure.

"Are you sleeping?" a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Near lifted his head from the glass to find a blue eyed blonde staring a him. He blinked in confusion.

"Everyone's gotten off already, sheep," Mello said, turning away from the boy and taking a bite of chocolate, "Don't make me wait."

"Sorry. I was not paying attention."

Mello eyed the boy, warily— the notion of apologising was strange for Near, as he usually had an arrogant remark to make.

The two walked a few metres apart until the group reached the zoo entrance. Roger began to discuss ticket processes and meeting times, though Near was only half listening, twirling his hair in his fingers. He watched the formulation of dark clouds in the sky, noting how his environment shifted from pressingly hot to gloomy each time one passed across the sun. By the time Roger had stopped speaking, only one spot of blue remained in the sky, which was quickly covered by more clouds.

Someone nudged him slightly, and he realised it was the goggled red-haired boy, who was now holding hands with Gia.

"English weather, amirite?" Matt asks, grinning and looking at the girl for approval, "Well. See'ya Melly. Near."

"Matt! Don't call me that, you bastard," Mello shouts, even though his best friend had already walked off.

Near and Mello walked awkwardly in silence, not stopping to look at any exhibits. Once, Near stumbled into Mello's side.

"Watch it, sheep."

"Maybe you shouldn't walk so slowly," Near quipped, his feisty mood returned.

"Damn atheist."

"Queer."

"I am not, you fucking shit," Mello burned.

"Then how would _you_ describe your relationship with Matt?"

"We're not like that, you albino bitch! We aren't fucking freaks like you."

Near only responded with silence, irritating Mello even more. Little did Mello know that Near did not respond only because he agreed with him. He was a freak and he deserved to be punished for it. The two walked in silence.

Occasionally, Near would look at Mello only to find two cerulean eyes looking at him through strands of fine blonde hair, forcing him to turn away in embarrassment.

"Stop it," Near spoke, timidly.

"Stop what?" the older boy asked, with a hint of a smirk in his voice.

"Stop looking at me. It's weird."

"I'm not looking at— shit," Mello stopped mid-sentence only to dash under the roof of a shaded exhibit.

It had started raining. Near darted after him, not wanting his white attire to become see through. The last thing he wanted this quasi-enemy to know is how many flaws he had to correct. Or worse— Mello could tell someone and make him stop, leaving him to rot in his own imperfections. No, anything would have been better than that, and so he picked up his pace and joined the blonde underneath the faux-stone covering.

Mello had already taken residency of an empty bench, resting his leather-clad legs on the armrest. The entire pavilion was empty, actually, and Near began to fee uncomfortable again. He looked around for another place to sit, but found none. Instead, he walked up to the tiny plaque suspended on a glass exhibition window.

_The Red Panda._

_Also called lesser panda and red cat-bear, the red panda is a small arboreal mammal native to the eastern Himalayas and southwestern China that has been classified as vulnerable by—_

Something rustled in the shrubbery behind the glass. Near looked up to find two brown eyes staring up at him.

_It's so cute_, Near thought, noting the friendly, cat-like face, _but it isn't red. Why is it called a red panda? _

He searched the plaque for an explanation for the pale fur, finding a tiny footnote at the end.

_We are extremely lucky to have been given the opportunity to house one of the rare albino specimen at our zoo. There are three albino red pandas in captivity and their occurrence in nature is exceptionally unusual. This is due to the rejection of the lighter coloured animals by others in their territory. While pandas are not social animals, they rely on others of their kind for protection. Without this connection, the albino red panda is vulnerable to numerous predators._

The soft fur moved with each drop of rain, though the kind eyes did not leave Near's. Near felt and immediate connection to the small creature— aside from coloration, Near understood the meaning of being shunned from one's own family. As a new member of Wammy's, he, too, understood the feeling of being in captivity. They were isolated, together.

Mello sneezed from his seat on the bench, drawing Near's attention away from the animal. When he looked back at the glass, the face was gone. Saddened, he took a seat on the opposite end of the bench.

"Why're you so interested in the stupid animals?" Mello asked, annoyed, "It's not like you've never seen one before."

"Actually, I have not," the sheep responded, his gaze not leaving the damp concrete, "I was not allowed to have pets as a child, and this is my first time at a zoo."

Mello's face opened up with shock and he removed his feet from the bench. He inched closer to Near.

"Wait— you've never been to the fucking zoo before? What the hell kind of parents did you have? You had one deprived childhood."

Near remained silent, staring at the ground uncomfortably. He subtly dug his fingernails into his thigh, though the sensation was dulled by his trouser's interception. Time ticked by slowly before Mello spoke again.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at his lap in a moment of conflict before opening his mouth once more— his hand tightly around his rosary, "I shouldn't have… Before coming to Wammy's, I hadn't been to the zoo before. I didn't really go anywhere or nothing,

"I never met my parents. I was dropped off at a small monastery in Russia as a baby or something like that. It doesn't seem so bad, but it was. I know I told you I wasn't earlier, but I am. Matt's not though. Anyway, at the Catholic orphanage, that sort of thing wasn't allowed. I know you hear a lot of shit about priests molesting boys or whatever," he laughs, "but it's not true. At least not there anyway,

"I didn't know it wasn't normal. I told one of the monks, when they asked me who I loved, that I loved God and this boy named D'mitri. I didn't know, you know? I was six. They used to make me repent every day for it, y'know? Like water and paddles and that whole shit. They would even— they'd hold my head underwater like this and crap until I couldn't breathe. I don't know why. I mean, I guess they were trying to drown the devil out of me or some horse shit but it was really just psycho. I told a guy at this village that I bought groceries from— it was just outside the monastery— that they would paddle me often because he asked me why I had bruises on my arm. He handed me a chocolate bar and the next thing I know, I'm here. I was nine."

Near sat silently, partially enraged and partially confused as to why Mello was just so open to someone he hated. He also did not want to discuss his own past with the other teenager, though he felt obligated. He refrained.

"Why?" the lamb asked.

"Well, I guess I thought you needed to know that whatever shit you've dealt with, you're not—"

"No," Near interrupted, "I mean why are you still wearing that Rosary when you've had such an issue with Catholicism and religion?"

"Because I am a Catholic."

"You'd follow a God who doesn't even accept people like you? What's wrong with you? That's like praying to a man with a gun up to your head. It's stupid."

"My issues with God are my issues with God," Mello replied after some thought, "I know He still loves me, and is making me stronger this way. I won't make you try to understand. An atheist like you won't be able to."

Near opened his mouth to speak, but Matt's voice interrupted the thought before he began. Instead, he returned to the glass pane— a red-coloured panda was in full view, fat and lounging on a tree. The albino one was laying atop its lap. Near smiled.

"Hey! There you two are! We were worried you two killed each other by now," the redhead's voice rang out, lacking Gia by his side, "We were supposed to be at lunch an hour ago. I told the gasbag that you two were in the restroom with diarrhoea. You're welcome."

"Grow up, Matt. You're such a dork," Mello responded, jokingly.

The two fell into a whispered conversation and the lamb could feel their eyes on his back. Shivers climbed up his fragile spine, and he watched the albino panda run away. He felt alone once more.

"Earth to Near," Matt said, smirking at Mello, "why are you looking at that exhibit like that? Got a thing for beastiality or somethin'?"

"He feels a connection to the bear," Mello cooly replied, wanting to impress his friend.

Near whipped his head around to stare at Mello, puzzled by how he knew such a thing. Was he that readable? However, he was only disappointed and betrayed in the end.

"They're both fat," Mello snickered.

As the group of three made their way back to the loading port for the coach, holding their hands above their heads, Matt and Mello both exchanged apologetic looks with the lamb when they thought their friend was not looking, but it was too late. The damage, the imperfection, had been carved into Near's mind.

He needed to lose weight.


	6. Chapter 6 - The Darkness

Near looked at his shirtless reflection in his bathroom mirror, pressing his slender fingers into the flesh of his hip. He had weighed himself almost immediately after returning from the trip to the zoo. The tiny needle reached just under forty kilograms. While he had never thought much about his weight before, this number seemed to be ridiculously high. Roughly five feet tall, Near felt a strange compulsion to weigh next to nothing. He wanted to be lighter than air— to leave no footprints in the winter snow. He wanted to disappear.

Though his hip bone already protruded from the pale, scarred skin of his hip, the lamb wanted to see more. He needed perfection— for his own sake as well as L's. He reached for the small razor hidden in his porcelain bathroom.

His fingers were shaking as he pushed the elastic waistband of his trousers down, blade in hand. His face burned and he could feel the tears form on the corners of his eyes. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Near lowered the blade onto a fresh expanse of skin. Delicately, he pressed the corner into the soft white flesh and sliced.

Not feeling the relief he needed from the fix, his struck his skin again. He moved his focus to the still-healing, scabby skin of his forearm. While most of the skin was rugged and pink, Near still craved the sensation he received from the area.

Haphazardly, he slashed the skin. He was impulsive. He was sloppy. He was Death, knocking. Great gashes marked his skin, and all of his pain flowed out. He knew he was losing his edge on control— that consciousness was escaping his grasp— and so he forced himself to place the razor down onto the counter.

His vision was blurry as he took in the damages. It needed stitches, he realised, but obviously could not acquire them without raising suspicion. Instead, he settled on various butterfly bandages, which pulled the fine edges of his injuries together. Once cleaned, the site looked like a macabre game of shoots and ladders.

Still light headed, Near stripped his body of the bloody garments and wobbled into the bedroom. Still in the nude, the lamb slumped into his bed and pulled the white sheets over his body. They felt cool and soothing to his cuts, but reminded him of his soft, fat body. Sobbing and exhausted, Near fell asleep.

A week passed and the little pale boy's figure started to dwindle while the scars imbedded in it increased. Instead of eating, he would turn to his razor, reminding himself of why he needed to lose weight in the first place. While he didn't intend to lose weight this way, he found it too easy to reject his breakfasts, pick through his lunch, and enjoy a small salad for his dinner. Over all, he was living on coffee, lettuce, and tomatoes. Even then, he had to fight for the coffee, as Roger was opposed to a fourteen year old boy taking in the bitter liquid.

He stopped looking at himself in the mirror halfway through the second week of this bizarre eating pattern— partly because he was ashamed of the lack of progress, while also because he was scared of the dark circles under his eyes and dull, sagging complexion.

During this initiation period, Mello and Matt seemed to leave him alone. Occasionally, he would see them outside of the clubroom while leaving, or returning to, his room. The exchange consisted of a slight head nod from Near, a grimace from Mello, and a polite smile, from Matt. Only once did Linda ask him to play a board game, and to that he quickly rejected. He was still opposed to childish toys and activities.

A stern knock sounded, causing Near to jump. He had been doing crunches on his bedroom floor when he heard Roger's old voice call out.

"Near, this is Roger. I'm coming in."

The old man pushed the door open and stepped into the white oasis, leaving the entry way slightly ajar. He looked slightly unsettled, with eyes that mimicked the conflict in his mind. He wrung his hands over and over until he took a seat on the edge of the white quilted bed.

"Near, I'm a bit concerned" he started, still looking nervous, "the cook said you haven't been taking your meals regularly. If you're sick, you need to let us know so that we can get you the treatment you need. Has your stomach been bothering you? Or your head?"

_Not in the way you're thinking_, Near thought to himself.

"I think I've just been under the weather a bit," Near responded, "I will be fine in a little while. Please do not concern yourself with me."

"Are you sure, son?" Roger inquired, "We are responsible for your health. Surely there is something we can give you to make you feel better."

Near shook his head, wishing the conversation to be over, when he noticed a glimmer of beautiful blonde hair imposing on the small gap between the door and its frame. Embarrassment flooded his chest.

"I'm honestly fine," he said, ending the small chat as Roger stood up, "Thank you for your thoughts."

The old man made his way to the door as the blonde tuft disappeared from sight. Near sighed silently as Roger shut the door behind him. He reassumed his exercise position when his stomach growled, ferociously. He clinched his teeth and picked up his routine.

The next day marked the third day of a water fast. While Near knew of several benefits from fasting, which he used to justify his activity, he also knew that what he was doing was a gross exploitation of the fasts that others use for spiritual enlightenment and anatomical cleansing. He had mainly avoided the urge to eat by remaining in his room, feigning a flu, but today the very room he used to escaped seemed to trap him inside his misery to a new level. Because he cared, though very slightly, about his own life, he decided to take a walk.

Upon opening the door, he discovered a small bouquet of flowers.

_'__Feel better. Roger.'_, he read silently.

He stifled a laugh, expelling the air through his nose.

The little lamb, as delicate as a spider, made his way through the hall. The floor seemed to sway and he was not sure where he was placing his bare feet. His legs felt as though he was treading through mud. Still, he pressed on as the strange world, so distorted and foreign, closed in on him. His heart beat pounded the drums in his ears and his vision darkened. Then, just as suddenly as the augmented perception came over him, it went away. Still clutching his chest, he pursued his walk. Each step became lighter.

Near had just barely walked past the storage closet when he heard his name being called out.

"Hey," a redheaded boy said, "How are y' feeling? I've 'eard you've been sick lately."

Near blinked slowly, distracted by the bold stripes of the boy's shirt. His mind looped around the fact that Matt— the boy who hated him, who was friends with the boy who hated him— just asked him how he was feeling.

"I am feeling better now, thank you," he responded, turning away— the world turning with him.

"Oi, well alright, then. See you," Matt said, returning into the electronic cave from which he emerged.

Near took gentle steps, venturing further down the abyss-like hallway. He kept one pallor hand upon the wall so as to keep his balance. The light headed feeling returned and the lights in the ceiling began to flicker. Then again, it could have been his vision failing him once more. His knees seemed to loosen in a manner that suggested that the lower halves of his legs ceased to exist any longer.

"Oh looks who's up," a familiar voice stated, though Near could not make out his face, "Sheep. While you've been slacking off and eating chicken soup, I've been catching up to you, damn brat. I'd even say I've passed you in half of the subjects."

Near attempted to focus on the figure, and could see the smooth strands of blonde hair. The world seemed to rotate around him, however, and he was overcome by a wave of nausea. He reached out for the wall but stumbled slightly. Regaining his balance, he looked up at the still-distant figure. Though blurry, he could tell that the teenager had stacks of something in his hand. Curious, he opened his mouth to speak but fell silent.

"Near?" Mello called out, his voice flavoured with alarm.

Slowly, the world seemed to fade, turning onto its side as it did. A ringing overcame Near's ears.

A sharp pain attacked Near's torso until it was replaced by something— something soft and warm. Only blackness, however, could be seen.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Discovery

"Near?"

A voice sounded, pulling him from the shadowy chasm. He could feel his eyelids twitch as he regained consciousness. Something smooth and warm seemed to envelope his body, which he slowly realised was lying horizontally.

"Near?" the voice repeated, softly.

Dazed, Near tilted his head upwards, blinking the world into focus. He saw a pale collarbone slipping into a dark shirt. Confused, the lamb's silver eyes followed the bone up to a neck, which was connected to a delicate chin. Blonde hair carefully framed the attached face.

Realising that he was atop the one boy who despised him the most, Near scampered away, his cheeks aflame. Unable to stand up, still overcome with dizziness, the white boy settled on resting against the walls. His eyes were unable to meet the cerulean blue ones that analysed his every move.

"Are you okay?" Mello asked, looking as though it was he who had fainted, "Do you want me to take you to the nurse? I can carry you."

Near's heart melted with these kinds words, unable to comprehend why someone so special and perfect was wasting his thoughts on a loser like himself. Suddenly, terror caused the organ to freeze once more, extending to the little lamb's lungs. His breath shortened as his chest tightened.

"No, I'm fine," he protested, "Really. I don't need to go. Don't touch me."

The blonde teenager retracted with a look of hurt in his eyes. Near feared Mello would think that he thought too highly of himself to be helped, but really it was the opposite. He knew he would hate him, but it could not be helped. The risk that a nurse would see his scars would be too great.

"Alright, okay," Mello shushed, with a slightly bizarre expression, "Just please stop crying."

Near hadn't realised it until he said something, but sure enough, hot tears streamed down his flushed face. He quickly wiped them away with his white sleeve, avoiding Mello's gaze.

"Do you want to play video games with me and Matt? You're not a club member but I guess we can make an exception," the blonde boy smiled meekly, "Just no passing out allowed, damn brat."

_Why_, Near wanted to scream, the scabs itching on his arm_, Why are you being so kind to me?_

Instead, he remained silent. A gentle nod of his head indicated to the other boy to extend his arm. Taking the offered hand, Near took to his feet. Though a bit wobbly at first, he was able to reach the storage closet as Mello opened the door. Inside, the room was as dark as the first time Near had mistakenly walked into it. An electronic gleam illuminated the room, made hazy from smoke, and he could make out the silhouette of the red-haired boy. When the goggled eyes spotted the albino-like boy, no questions were asked. Near chose to sit on the makeshift cardboard couch rather than play the game, but he found comfort in observing the friendship play out in front of him. Every so often, the two older boys would wrestle each other over some idiotic game event, or take jabs at each other's odd habits. Near was able to drift off into a long-needed sleep.

Groggy and afflicted with a dry mouth, Near awoke amongst billows of soft white fabric. A bright light filled the room that he slowly recognised to be his own bedroom. A sense of panic arose in his chest until ripped away the covers and examined his body. Thankfully, the clothing from the previous day remained. Whoever returned him to his room hadn't seen the faults.

Rolling out of the bed, Near shuffled over to the bathroom. Delivering two quick cuts to his soft, slightly concave stomach, Near stripped for a shower. The water purified his imperfections, and he welcomed the stinging sensation. He slowly washed his body before shampooing his hair, but something struck him with fear. In his hand appeared a few strands of translucent, white hair too many.

_Shit_, he thought, _Not only am I going to be scarred and fat, but I'm going to be bald too?_

Woefully, he let the hair fall down the drain and got out of the shower. Getting dressed, he stepped out into the hallway. Regardless of his body's shape, he knew he needed some sort of food to sustain his life. Figuring it was too late for breakfast but too early for lunch, he decided to grab an apple from the kitchen.

Closing the bedroom door behind him, Near almost tripped over a slumping figure resting against the wall. Upon closer inspection, he realised it was Mello, soundly sleeping just outside of his bedroom. Perplexed, he prodded him. When the boy did not awaken, he returned to his path towards the kitchen, heeding to his growling stomach. When he returned, the boy was gone.

The next day, Near awoke to the boy just outside his bedroom yet again.

"You know, I am fine," Near said to the blonde boy during a criminology class, "I do not require your observation."

"Don't flatter yourself, sheep," Mello sneered, "I'm just making sure you take care of yourself. I don't wanna invite you to another game session. You're totally and completely boring."

"Well, I am sorry that I don't take pleasure in juvenile activities like you do," Near smirked.

Mello scoffed as Roger called the class to attention. Periodically, the two would glare at each other from their alphabetic seats. After the class was dismissed, Mello pounced on the lamb before he could leave the room.

"Why don't you ever just goddamn live a little?" Mello questioned, accusingly.

Near shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Mello's gaze narrowed.

"Matt and I are going to teepee one of the girl's rooms," the blonde boy stated, "Want to help?"

"That's against the rules."

"So? You break rules all the time, Near. You're a cheater. I've seen you. On tests."

"I don't cheat, Mello," he responded, feeling his stomach maul his abdominal walls, "I win."

"You're a big cheater!"

Near attempted to slip past the boy, needing to satisfy the urge to harm his own skin, but was roughly pulled backwards. A fist flew at his shoulder. The white boy stumbled into the hallway in shock— his muscles tensing to receive the next blow. But it never came.

"And you're a pretentious jerk," Mello remarked before sulking off.

The lamb rubbed his arm and watched the being walk down the hallway, his hair alternating between blonde and golden with each touch of sunlight from the large windows. His stomach curled and the dizziness returned. Slowly, he made his way up the long steps to the library, seeking a healthier way to escape.

Sure enough, the comfort he found was inside of the pages of a book and the hint of the smell of paint. Linda was still working on her mural, although it had changed considerably since the last time he saw it.

"It looks great, Linda," Near said, softly— his voice lacking the emotions his felt inside.

The little girl spun around in excitement, but her face quickly disintegrated into a sullen expression. She place the paint brush down upon her work space and removed the large shirt that protected her clothing. She approached Near in the manner that one would reach out to pet a rabbit.

"Are you okay, Near? You look like a ghost," Linda said timidly, "More than usual."

Near nodded and set his book aside, bending the page he was reading.

"Do you want to play a game with me?"

Near shuddered, but his mind was so fuzzy and scattered that he craved anything to take away the thoughts. For a brief second, he forgot of his long term aversion to toys, games, and all things childish.

"What game?"

The little girl pointed to a transparent box filled with black and white squares. Near nodded and watched her drag the objects closer.

"How do you play it?" He asked, genuinely unsure.

"They're dominoes. I don't really know how to play it the real way, but I like to make designs with it and knock them over."

Puzzled, Near hesitantly pulled a piece from the box and placed it upright. He tried his best to prevent his fingers from shaking to avoid suspicion, but he was overwhelmed by haunting sensation that he was about to be harshly punished. Swallowing his thoughts, he placed another tile next to it. Nothing happened.

Then, like a tsunami, a rush of empowerment— of distraction— overcame the lamb. Tile after tile, he erected a labyrinth of black and white. For a little while, Near escaped his imprisoning thoughts and could think like a free man. For a little while, Near was perfect. Unfortunately, the tiles ran out.

"There were four-hundred and sixty-five of them," Linda spoke, her mouth agape, "You used them all."

Then, sensing Near's upwelling panic, she quickly added, "But watch," and knocked one tile over.

The little black domino teetered before crashing into its companion. Then, tiles were falling over as rapidly as the one previous, leaving a beautiful spiral pattern on the floor. Near felt freedom like never before, but when the last tile fell, he felt like he had just lost a battle. Sluggishly, he rose to his feet and thanked Linda for her company before heading off to his bedroom.

Inside, Roger awaited him.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Obstacle

"Near," the dotty old man addressed the visibly shaken sheep, "I need to discuss something very important with you."

The white boy's chest was gripped with fear. Each shallow breath burned his lungs as he cautiously inched towards the door, ready to run in a moment's notice.

"I was informed that you are still denying your meals. While we have had some students with, for lack of a better word, poor social skills, a rejection of all social settings to the point that your health is potentially in peril is extremely unusual. Given your previous treatment, it is understandable that you shy away from interaction with others. However, given that L is now closing in on the one who he feels is Kira, it is imperative that you learn to socialise and work as a team— should you be chosen as his successor. For this reason, I ask you to take your meals in your room on the condition that at least one friend— another boy— accompany you. This was, you will maintain your health whilst developing social skills in a controlled setting."

Near's breath caught in his throat.

"I… understand," _you idiot. How could you be so off the mark? How could you do this to me?_

"And?" Roger continued.

"And, what?" Near's fist balled in agitation— his thoughts floating through panic and relief.

"What friend would you like to accompany you?  
Did he have friends? There was Linda, but she was younger and of the incorrect gender. Matt seemed like a good choice, although they had little to discuss other than Mello. Mello— it was impossible. Mello was too perfect— too superior— when compared to Near. Still, the thought of becoming friends with Mello made him smile. Then again, the blonde always seemed ready to injure him, which scared Near.

"Matt."

Roger nodded and wrote the name down on a sheet of memo pad. He murmured a few thank-you's and farewells and the two parted ways. Near collapsed on his bed, clutching his hair tightly, as soon at the man shut the door behind him.

"Fuck," he screamed into the pillow.

With his heart racing, he ripped off his shirt and ran into the bathroom. His thoughts rattled about his cranial cavity— from being forced to eat in Matt's presence to gaining weight to being such a screw up for not being cautious enough. He dug his nails into the soft snowy flesh of his stomach and drug his hands from side to side. Immediately, the blanched skin turned red. And then he was reaching for his razor.

One little cut made itself known on the young teenager's flesh. A partner soon joined it. Then, in a hurricane of anger and guilt and sorrow, seventeen red, angry marks tore across his skin. He vomited.

The antiseptic stung like mad. Still, Near knew it was what he had to do in order to keep the cuts clean. Once he pondered letting the cuts getting infected so that they slowly killed him, but he realised it was quite impractical and that he was not even sure if he wanted death. He could only think of the hulking masses of fabric that laid on the floor of his parlour. Their twisted expressions caused him to question the blissfulness of death.

Tears formed on the corners of his eyes as he sunk down onto the bathroom tiles. He had successfully cleaned up the entire bathroom, though his shirt still remained strewn across the bed in the bedroom. Each sullen heart beat pulsed up into the veins that beat against his eardrums. His heart felt an emptiness that knew no boundaries. Though slow and laboured, his breathing seemed to be a desperate gasping. Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door.

"Just a minute," Near called out, scrambling to retrieve his shirt.

The door creaked open just as he fastened the last button. Standing there was Matt, holding a tray with two sandwiches and two milk cartons. A laptop was tucked under his arm.

"Shit, even your goddamn room is white."

"Hello, Matt," Near replied calmly, though his heart was still racing from anxiety.

"I'm here for dinner. The old codger told me you 'ere 'pecting me or something. He was helping one of the lil' kids get ready to eat so he didn't explain much or nothing."

The redhead was clad in his signature aviator goggles, striped shirt, and quilted maroon pants. Where shoes should have been was lightly tanned skin.

"I'm not hungry," Near replied uneasily, avoiding the green eyes that seemed to search his mind.

"Well I am, s'long as I'm forced t'be here, I'm eating," the goggle-boy chirped, "Mind if I use my laptop? Mel and I were in the middle of somethin' big."

Near was surprised by his cheerful candour, but nodded his head in agreement. He approached the closet, remembering the domino set he had shoved into on his first day. He though that they, perhaps, could distract him while Matt did his own thing.

"You're going to play with your toys, mate?" Matt snickered.

"Yes. I am."

The redhead was silenced by Near's matter-of-fact speaking and turned his attention to the loading screen of his laptop. Near spread the dominoes on the carpet and started to fiddle with them, thinking. Only Matt's exaggerated smacking could be heard.

"Don't make a mess," Near stated, pausing from his task of stacking tiles, for the seventh time— a mere fifteen minutes had elapsed, but Matt had already consumed most of his and Near's sandwiches.

An incomprehensible mutter of agreement came from Matt's food-stuffed mouth. His goggles were illuminated by the unnatural glow of the computer screen. The light seemed to change rapidly.

"What are you doing?" Near asked, only to receive another uninterpretable garble in response.

Matt swallowed, "Hacking."

Intrigued, Near rose to his feet and meekly shuffled to the edge of the bed where the boy was sitting.

"Into what?" he asked.

"Whammy's."

"You can't hack into Whammy's. Whammy is too smart to have some idiot like you breech the database security."

"You wanna bet?" Matt challenged, spinning the laptop to face the sheep.

Amazed, Near took in the computer screen. Sure enough, the screen shifted from various maps and files about Whammy's and its inhabitants.

"I'm only past the second fire wall— detailed reports of the students and stuff like that are still off limits. But I can at least change the lunch menu," Matt boasted proudly, "Chocolate cake tomorrow."

Near cringed and pinched his own side.

"I see," he replied, twirling a piece of hair between his fingers."

"It's kind of a shame," Matt stated, slightly resigned, "I like t'know shit about other people, y'know?"

Near nodded and turned around, reassuming his seat on the floor.

"There you go again, Near," the redhead spoke, his voice hinting of agitation, "You shut the world off like that. It pisses the hell out of Mel, you know. You could at least _act_ interested."

"I was interested."

"Sure you were."

In all honesty, however, Near was more focused on getting Matt to leave his room. All he wanted to do was sleep.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Flame

Near casually shifted the food around on his plate using a relatively unsoiled fork. It had been a whole week since he started taking his meals with Matt. Every once in a while— be it for dinner or lunch, but never breakfast since he apparently could not be bothered to rise in time— Mello would join the two, sheerly out of missing his gaming best friend. Near would like to think it was also to see him, but he knew the blonde would never think so much of him.

Today's lunch, however, was not one of those blessed with the raging catholic's presence.

"That does not even make sense, Matt," Near spoke, roaming the floor with his eyes so as to avoid the pair looking at him.

"I'm just sayin'," the redhead garbled through a mouthful of pasta, "if I'm eatin' like a pig, you eat like'a goat. I mean, look'a you. You probably weigh less than my game box. An'I've only got like sixty games in there right now—

_I know I do_, Near though to himself, _I have to._

"Maybe a few less though, I gave some to Liam. But then I did buy 'at new one with Mel last week— at the town trip. I dunno, you _may _be equal with it," he continued, aimlessly, "Near?"

_Huh. _"Yeah, I guess," Near responded, absent-minded

"Hey, Near?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to go into town with me and Mello tomorrow? Mel figured out how to drive without crashing now."

The sheep looked up at him, wide eyed. Confused, not only because he had never once been invited to participate in something as a friend, but because of the whole technicality of the thing.

"How? We don't have cars," the slender boy asked, setting his plate— still full of food, covered only by a rumpled napkin— on his desk,

"If I can configure an Xbox into a docking station for hackin' into THE Whammy's system, I can hot wire a car," the redhead smirked, clearly proud of himself, adding as an afterthought, "For someone as smart as you, you're sure a dumbarse."

Near felt his face heat up, despite the lack of malice in the other boy's tone.

"So d'ya wanna go or not?"

"Can we play video games again, instead?," Near asked hesitantly, "I don't really… I cannot appreciate the town very much."

Thoughts of the small city disturbed Near immensely. While he enjoyed going from shop to shop and looking at all the small bakeries with delicious cakes and tarts set out, cities held a darker, more ominous meaning in his heart. He remembered the rain that always seemed to accompany his trips to town as a child. The same water that drenched him and his mother also drenched her next victim. He shuddered.

"Because of your parent's business?"

Near's hand clinched the fabric that adorned his knee. His heart seized and blood pounded through his veins haphazardly, as though it wanted to break free of their restrains on their own. However, the only path it could find was down into the ground as his body became pale and numb.

"Wh.. what did you say?" His voice was only a weak whisper.

"Your parents," the redhead stated calmly, "They're why you don't like the city, right?"

"H.. Hh… How did you… I n…" Near tripped awkwardly over the stammering words clambering off his tongue.

"Know? I broke past the next firewall. It was easy, really. I figured I was mixin' somethin' up, and bang! Like magic, I got through."

"YOU HACKED INTO MY FILE?!" The sheep exploded, barely refraining for hitting the other boy square in the jaw.

"No, no," the redhead laughed awkwardly and tried to console the other boy— his hands held up innocently in front of him— "Only _part _of it."

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Near exclaimed, throwing him self onto his feet, his hands balled tightly into white fists, "Matt… get the fuck out."

Stunned by the younger boy's uncharacteristic language, Matt rose to his feet, and stepped towards the smaller boy. His hand floated uncomfortably in mid air for a moment until he retracted it.

"Near… I… I'm sor—"

"GET OUT."

Not waiting for Matt to move, however, Near raced to his bathroom, locked the door, and let himself sink to the floor. He could feel the older boy's fist shake the door while his muffled name-calling sounded.

"I didn't think you'd be mad! I'm sorry!"

_Leave._

"We can play video games tomorrow if you want," Matt persisted, "How 'bout noon?"

_Please leave._

"I'm sorry, Near."

_Please, just leave me alone._

The door shook slightly, and Near was partially aware enough to recognise the sound as Matt leaving his bedroom. The anger and fear had left him, and he was alone in his sullen despair.

_Someone knows_, Near screamed at himself, _Someone knows and knows me and knows I am tainted. I am so horrible and disgusting to have criminal history crammed into my being._

The boy trembled and hot tears fell upon his hand. Slowly, he drew himself off the floor and proceeded to take out his razor.

The cuts were deep, but others ran deeper.

* * *

Near looked at the clock that rested on the small table connected to his bed. It read 4:00, and he had not been asleep the entire night. It was not that he wasn't tired— he was, so desperately tired— but he could not bare to shut his eyes. Too many memories had been stirred up in his mind the previous afternoon that he feared that should he shut his eyes, an instantaneous nightmare reliving each one would occur.

Somehow, though, he had managed to fall asleep without consciously knowing it, and when he woke up, it was already five until noon.

_I'm not going_, he assured himself, _there is no way in hell I am spending time with that damn Matt and his lesser half._

He slid out of bed, hissing in pain. He noticed a crusty red pooling on his hip from where his previous day's cuts were located. Though painful, he peeled his trousers away from the scabby area— reopening a few larger ones. He continued to think to himself as he put on a new pair— grabbing some new pants too, as an afterthought.

"When did my clothes get so big?" Near spoke aloud to himself.

He stepped around some toys on his way to his bathroom and starred at himself in the mirror. His trousers sagged low beneath his protruding hipbones while his shirt hung excessively off his small frame. Sighing, he rolled up his trouser's waistband so that they clung onto his body a little better.

_I'm still not going_.

His head throbbed as he brushed his teeth. For a moment, he rested his forehead against the medicine cabinet, just to regain his balance.

_This is bad today. I need to get something to eat_.

He walked back into his bedroom and placed his hand on the door knob. He hesitates.

_Just food. But I wont stop by their hang— closet. The closet. The janitor's closet._

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, however, he realised he made a horrible mistake.

The smell of buttery popcorn wafted in the air. His stomach growled with anger while his heart sank. He needed to stay strong, but there was an irresistible sweetness to the smell that truly tested his will power. Sweetness. The popcorn was most definitely coated in chocolate.

_Mello._

* * *

"I'm intruding," Near said after quietly knocking on the door.

He had told himself he wouldn't end up here, but somehow he was overcome but the smell of delicious food. All he could manage to do was climb into the dark abyss— over the boxes of supplies and cleaning stuff— and follow the scent. He casually stumbled into objects in hopes that they would bruise his legs.

"Near, you came?!" Mello's voice, shockingly, was the first that sounded.

The little pale boy looked over at the distracted Matt, who must have told Mello everything that had happened… _and_ everything that he had found out. He blushed and frowned to himself.

"Yeah, I suppose." Near responded, emotionless once more.

"Matt said he spilled his soup on you yesterday and that you were mad and wouldn't come. I didn't even know he had invited you," Mello said, his voice changing from enthusiasm to a forced calmness, "damn brat.

Near smiled internally and took a seat next to Mello. He was glad to feel like he had friends, even if just for a moment. The boy next to him was unselfconscious and free, scarfing down chocolate popcorn while sprawled out on the hand-me down couch. Near leaned across him, ever so slightly, to grab a minuscule amount of popcorn. The calories rolled around in his head until his thoughts were interrupted with another, different scent than that of the popcorn. It was still chocolatey, but mixed with the faint scent of cigarettes and a hint of pine.

_This is what Mello smells like?_

He quickly slumber back into his seat on the couch.

"What are you playing today?"

"Mafia Blaster 5."

"Sounds… violent," Near responded, unable to think of something else to say.

"The Mafia is so cool," Mello stated, ensnared by the power of the game controller, "I'd join it. That is, if I wasn't already going to be L's successor."

"Do you hear yourself?" Near spoke, his anger rising in his chest, "The mafia is full of bad people that do horrible things. Those are the kind of people we are fighting against."

Matt receded from the conversation, clearly attempting to get away from the argument. Instead, he tossed two cans of soda to the boys— a cherry coke to Mello and a diet lemonade to Near. The older boy, though irked from Near's abruptness, caught it cooly while Near failed to even register the situation. The can crashed into the floor, safely away from any gaming equipment, and ripped open. Its contents leached into there carpet floor. Near stood and swiftly left the room.

"What gotten into him?" Mello asked.

"Dunno. He was all pissy like that yesterday, too."


	10. Chapter 10 - The Perfect

**Hello! Thank you for reading. If you just clicked to the last chapter, please realise I posted two chapter updates in a row!**

* * *

The young boy's body twisted and squirmed until he was jolted awake. Sitting rigidly upright in his bed, Near looked, quite groggily, at his clock. It was only dinner time, though he had felt like he had slept for hours. Sweat clung to his forehead, pulling thin wisps of snowy white hair against it.

_Shit_.

Something else had occurred, though it took a moment for the sleepy boy to deviate the moisture from the excessive sweat. He had wet the bed. Immediately, his pale face turned deep crimson and he internally cursed himself for what he had done. He wasn't a small child anymore, so why had this happened? He knew what it was— the nightmares— but still, he denied the thought that he was weak enough to have such a reaction to something that wasn't even real. But it was real— while he was in it, at least— and he _had_ felt those hands and that pain, and his thoughts _were_ of fear and panic. He scrambled out of if bed and struggled to remove the sheets. Eventually, though, they came off.

He walked the sheets into his bathroom and placed them into a hamper. There he peeled off his damp clothing and looked at himself in the mirror. His appearance frightened him. While he was never very handsome, he was not particularly bad look. But now, he seemed to be far from it. When he refused a meal, he felt more attractive— but now, looking at his nearly naked body in the mirror made him feel like the ugliest duckling in the world. Shockingly, it was neither the disturbing protrusion of bones from his ribs, hips, and collarbones nor his weak, lanky shoulders that bothered him. It was the tiniest amount of loose skin on his concave stomach that he confused for flab. He dug his fingernails into it and dragged his hand across his skin. Bright red scratches remained as evidence of the deed. He felt sick and disgusting— a prominent itching danced across his skin. He needed to cut— and he needed to cut now.

Shaking slender fingers pried the razor blade loose from its hiding spot. He knew he should refrain from cutting in this mindset— the lack of control feared him. Instead, though, it pushed him to do it even more. He didn't want to die, but he wanted to be dead. While his mind was such a painful place to live, the numbness that seemed to come over him was just as unbearable. He placed the razor to his skin.

One cut.

Two cuts.

Three cuts.

The red, angry marks blossomed across his pale flesh. He was, most definitely, cutting too deep. However, he seemed not to care. While it wasn't intentional, he didn't mind letting himself bleed out. How long it would take for someone to find him was uncertain. No one cared enough to really notice he was gone. He let his mind drift off away from the pain, when he realised he was over reacting. He wasn't going to die, despite the heavy flow of blood dripping onto the porcelain white tiles. He just needed a nap. That was all. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to close and he revelled in the silence.

* * *

A fuzzy sound tickled his ears. It was dull— almost metallic— and faint— so extremely faint. Nears head was throbbing as the sound— and his vision— came into focus. He quickly recognised the sound to be a voice calling out his name.

He bolted upright. The opaque smell of rust hit him with a wave of nausea. He could barely refrain from retching as he searched the room frantically for another person. He couldn't afford to have his secret out. Not like this.

"Near?!"

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he realised the voice belonged to Mello. He relaxed, however, when he realised it was coming from behind his bedroom door. He was still safe, for a moment longer, at least. Uneasily, he picked himself up and started cleaning everything. The mess was incredible, but not uncommon.

"Are you hurt?! I smell blood!"

_Shit_, Near thought. He wanted to respond— to call out and say he was fine— but it his mouth was dry and stale.

"Near, open the goddamn door!"

Suddenly, Near could speak, though his voice was feeble.

"I'm fine," he croaked back through the door, "I just skinned up my knee."

It was partially true. He _had_ skinned his knee on the cabinet when he slunk down into unconsciousness. However, he knew it was the other injuries that would be more troublesome for him.

"Did you pass out again?" the blonde called, worry strung throughout his voice— he was hoarse and Near wondered if he had been yelling long, "Do you need me to carry you to the nurse? Open up the door!"

"I'm fine. Just go away. Stay away from me, Mello," the white haired boy responded, _please don't come in, I'll just hurt you._

"You're obviously pretty hurt if you're bleeding this much!" Mello called out, and a thud sounded on the door.

He had attempted to break down the door, but Near knew he wouldn't have been able too. Not only was Mello rather lanky, but also, Near's walls could never be broken down. The argument persisted for only a few more minutes until Mello gave up, sitting down by the door instead. Near, however, thought he had left. He too, sat against the door.

The tears couldn't be held back.

_I'm such a mess now. I don't know who I am anymore. I just want to die. I deserve to die. Why am I so afraid to do it, then? What is wrong with me. I want to be normal. Mello is normal. Matt, more or less, is normal. So why I am fucked up like this? I want to be perfect._

Thoughts rattled around the young teen's mind as the tears streamed down his sunken cheeks and pale skin. He sat against his door and bawled his eyes out— desperate to scream.

"Why?" was all he could choke out.

This one teary question— directed at no one Mello could think of, other than God— whom Near did not believe in—caught the blonde boy's ears.

"Near…" he whispered, too faint for the younger boy to hear.

* * *

Near woke up extra early the next morning. Not from his nightmares, but from a buzzing alarm clock. He had plans to get to the library way before Matt had to join him for breakfast. He sought to be alone today.

Not bothering to change from his pyjamas, the ghost slipped from his bed onto the floor, and— nimbly, like a spider— walked out into the hallway. It was still dark.

The climb to the library was rather treacherous. Some toys from the younger students were sprawled out upon the steps and it took great care to avoid stepping on them in the early morning darkness. Shortly, a few stubbed toes and lego-imprints later, he arrived.

There, Near found sanctuary in a castle of books. The hours crept by and the sunlight danced across the floor until it became apparent that it was almost noon. Near was delighted by the lack of disturbance— but also saddened that no one had even came looking for him. Surely, Matt would have noticed he was not at dinner. He was supposed to tell Roger if he missed any meals.

_I guess he doesn't care after all_.

"There you are."

Near looked up from his thoughts, clearly startled. He clinched a book, ready to throw it at any threat. There, he only found Mello, hunched over with his hands on his knees— panting.

_Breath taking_, Near thought, _breathless, _he amended.

"Yes, here I am," the sheep responded coldly, collected.

"Why— why would—," Mello panted, "Why wouldn't you open the door? Yesterday— I mean. I thought you had broken something."

"Because I didn't need help."

"Apparently you do."

Fear struck Near dead in this tracks.

"Matt told you about my parents?"

"What? I don't know what you're even talking about," Mello said with a genuine look of confusion on his face.

"Never mind," Near replied, relaxing just a little.

"Um, okay," the blonde muttered back, "Anyway, let me see your knee."

"No."

"Why not?"

_Because I said so_, Near thought, ignoring the boy and picking up his book again.

"Come on, Near. You might need stitches. Lemme see it," the taller boy persisted.

_Bang_.

The cracking sound erupted through the silent library. Mello looked stunned as the book dropped from its contact point— directly left of Mello's head. Near, overcome by something he did not recognise as his own, had thrown the book straight at Mello.

"I'm so— I do— I'm s—," Near stammered, quietly to the point that it was almost inaudible.

"What the… What the fucking hell, Near?! I was trying to help you!" Redness spread across the blonde-eyed boy's face, unable to control his poor temperament, "You damn brat."

Then, he was on top of Near, and half-hearted punches were flying. Near wasn't crying, like he thought he would have been, but instead, a sad dullness soaked in the soft pain. Near barely struggled, though his words implied great effort.

"Get off me, Mello! You're fucking crazy! Get off," Near said, his voice breaking.

_No, you're not. I'm the crazy one._

"You're such an ass, Near! You act like you're so great, so high and mighty… Even you need some help sometimes!"

That did it. Near's mask shattered and the tears came down. Still, Mello kept hitting him, unrelenting, though his intent wasn't really to hurt him. Mello didn't know why he was even hitting him, but he needed something to express his emotions— his fear— that had been pent up inside him. Soon, the hitting turned to wrestling.

"Ow!" Near screamed, a sound so blood curdling that Mello stopped immediately— he knew he hadn't hurt him that badly.

The consecutive seconds occurred so rapidly that time almost seemed to stand still. Mello was looking at the palm of his hand— smeared with blood. A 'what the hell' rolled from his lips, but soon he was apologising. But then he was stopping. He was looking at Near, and Near was searching his eyes. But he couldn't find them. No, Mello's eyes were focused on one small part of Near's wrist, peeking out from his white shirt. Both boys reached for the fabric immediately— with opposite intentions. Mello beat him to it, however, and soon the fabric was scrunched up, revealing Near's lost world.

_Don't look,_ Near thought.

"Near?" was all Mello could manage to say.


	11. Chapter 11 - The Prayer

Near was unsure how it was the sky that filled his vision— or why it was Mello that was holding onto his carcass-like frame. All he could remember was that his secret was out and that his life would never be the same. Even worst, it was Mello— they boy who, so passionately, spited him— that found out. Near was sure he was always seeking an opportunity to ruin his life, and now he had the means to do so. The partially-developed thoughts stormed through the sheep's mind like a tempest— reckless, harmful, and unbelievably cold.

It was Mello's voice that eventually subdued the waves of panic. Only then did Near realise that his body had been mimicking the writhing movements within his brain, and so he allowed his limbs to rest. He wanted, so desperately, to rest.

"Near," Mello's voice called out from a seemingly far away place, though Near's head was laying on his lap.

_Don't ask why. Please, don't ask why._

"Please, be still," the blonde stated, almost a whisper— as if it were he who wanted to disappear, "I don't think you're a freak, so stop saying that. It's going to be okay. I brought you to the roof, so no one else will find out, okay? You don't have to talk right now, but please stop screaming."

He was screaming? Near didn't feel like he was screaming, but like the never-ending pressure that had been forming— for years, perhaps— in his chest was being let out. Still, he clamped his mouth shut. No more tears escaped his eyes, but his body still shook as though he was still crying.

A moment slid by.

Another.

"Why," Near started, surprised that it was himself that was asking questions, "the roof?"

"It helps me think."

Mello's arms were still wound about Near— a position unfamiliar to the younger boy. He was confused as to why the blonde would soil himself by even touching him, much less hold him. Dry sobs erupted through his chest once more.

"I'm sorry," the tiny figure whispered.

"The fuck, Near. You're the one who should be apologised to," Mello said, his voice louder and more confident than it had been for the past few minutes, "I've been treating you like shit, and you've been— this."

Near tucked his arm closer into his chest, and avoided Mello's face with his eyes, "Well, then I'm sorry you had to carry me. I was probably heavy."

"Can I pray for you, Near?"

The question startled the lamb. It wasn't the expected 'why' or 'how' or condemnation that he so anticipated the minute that Mello had reached for his sleeve. While he didn't see the point, he merely nodded his head— to tired to argue about religion. Mello pulled out his rosary and muttered a long prayer. Near could only focus on the shifting clouds as the time passed slowly by.

"Do you need to go to the nur—"

"No, I'm fine. Don't take me to the nurse, please don't take me. Roger will find out. I'll be in trouble. Please don't take me. Please— plea— don't— you can't— I'll kill myself. I will— I will jump off this roof the second you get up." Nears words were unclear and short as the panic returned.

Mello's hands gripped the sides of Near's face and he steadied the boy, peering down into his face from above, "Okay. Please, don't do that. I won't— but only if you let me see. I need to be sure you're going to be okay." His voice feigned calmness.

Near paused for a moment— weighing the two options— before standing up and nodding slowly, wiping away a few remaining tears, and removing his shirt. Near felt exposed— raw— and kept his head down, staring at his feet.

A warm hand addressed his skin, startling him. Still, he looked away. For what seemed like hours, Mello assessed and observed his scarred flesh. Occasionally, he would run his fingers across one particularly deep wound.

"Is this all?" Mello asked, his voice breaking as though he were crying.

Near snapped his head up to make eye contact with the older boy. Sure enough, tears were running down his face. _What? Did I do something?_

"Near," Mello interrupted, a bit harshly, though his expression was one of concern and confusion.

All the lamb could do was shake his head 'no'— once in response to the question, and again when the blonde asked if he could see those, too.

"Okay," Mello responded, not wanting to corner the unstable boy.

Another silent moment.

Mello turned away to face the freshly-risen sun. Near was unsure what to do, so he walked up next to the taller boy. He had put on his white shirt once again, but still felt just as exposed.

"I've been through a lot because of what I am and what I believe in," Mello said, breaking the silence, "and I have even thought about death. But I never've done what you do. I never took it that seriously. And maybe you don't want to tell me now, but I'm just going to ask anyway. Why do you want to die?"

Near thought for a moment before responding.

"I don't want to die, and that's why I do it."

Mello looked at him curiously, before nodding.

"There's a lot that you don't know about me, Mello. I don't expect you to und—"

"Then try! Tell me! I want to help, okay? I can't help you if you don't tell me what is wrong in the first place! Just— tell me when something is wrong _before_ you go and slice your fucking skin, okay? Maybe, just maybe— although I'm not so goddamn high and mighty as you are, Near— and probably never will be— I am smart enough to understand if you just talk to me. I want to help you stop!"

The tears started again.

"I'm sorry, Near," the blonde said, keeping his distance from the boy, "I didn't mean to yell— I'm just scared."

"Of me?" Near asked.

"For you."

* * *

**Thank you to **LouiseLawliet, Emlin18, TheShinigamiInRed, **R, and **SilvertonguedSerpent1895 **for their encouraging reviews for my last chapter. Also, a special shout out to Ellie and many others for the meaningful posts they left on previous chapters that I didn't mention before.**

**I know this chapter is short and not extremely cliche or over-dramatic, but it is intentional. Broken moments need to be shared in a broken way. That is just how life is sometimes.**

**Please leave a review or critique.**


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